


The Fucking Numpties

by cantthinkofausername_B_Pike



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Baz being his usual angsty self, Baz is thinking mildly fluffy thoughts about Simon anyway, Canon Compliant, M/M, but at the same time not really, fluff??, kind of based off of The Anchor by Bastille, the numpty incident, this fic has been done a million times but I'm doing it again anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 07:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11504796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantthinkofausername_B_Pike/pseuds/cantthinkofausername_B_Pike
Summary: It's the beginning of eighth year and Baz has been kidnapped by the numpties. He thinks about Simon (among other things).





	The Fucking Numpties

**Author's Note:**

> You were the light that is blinding me  
> You're the anchor that I tie to my brain  
> 'Cause when it feels like I'm lost at sea  
> You're the song that I sing again and again  
> All the time, all the time  
> I think of you all the time
> 
> The Anchor by Bastille. I was listening to this song today and suddenly the only thing I could think of was SnowBaz... so I put the song on repeat and wrote this.

Getting kidnapped by fucking numpties is not the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Not by a long shot. Still, after being trapped in this godawful coffin for three weeks, it is starting to feel like it. I don't know where Normals got the idea that vampires don't need to eat, but somehow this has been passed on to the numpties. A Thermos of blood once a day, with no other food, is simply not enough; I've been slowly starving. And on top of all of that, I can feel the air growing colder. This is a bad sign for two reasons. One, vampires have horrifyingly poor circulation. I'm always cold, and if the temperature drops too much I could literally freeze. Second, numpties hibernate. At some point, the meager supply of blood will end for the winter. Either way, I'm doomed if I don't get out of here before the season changes.

I don't let myself think about that. Any time I catch my thoughts heading in the general direction of my impending demise, I abruptly change the mental topic. Which seems all fine and well, until you realize that you can't do much else but think when you're trapped in a coffin.

I spent a long time the first few days thinking about how to escape. After all, wouldn't anyone? I haven't thought about that in a while, though. Not even all the "plotting" Snow seems to think me capable of can break me out of a magically sealed coffin when I am not in possession of my wand.

More and more often, my mind heads in another forbidden direction: my mother. Or, more specifically, how my mother would've reacted to me. A vampire. One of the very creatures she died fighting. Died trying to protect me from. _Vampires are monsters,_ I think. _I'm a monster._ I always stop myself here, too. Well, most of the time. Otherwise, I get stuck in a rut of self-hatred I'm scared I'll never come out of. One that sounds an awful lot like this: _She killed herself before she became one of them. One of me. What am I still doing alive?_ And despite this, I don't want to die. So I stay away from anything that has to do with the memory of my mother. I need to, until I can sort this out. Until I can believe that I don't deserve to die for being Turned. Which I don't, some of the time. But sneaking around the catacombs draining rats every night or all-too-quickly running out of lukewarm blood from a Thermos don't make me feel like someone my mother would've been proud of. Someone I can be proud of.

About the same time as I gave up on escape plans, I realized I had to have something to think about. Something that I would allow myself to think about, something that wouldn't end up with me losing my mind or my life. For a bit, I tried to think about Normal things, but one consequence of growing up in one of the Old Families is that I know next to nothing about Normal culture. So all there really was to think about was Watford. Watford has been my home ever since I started at the school seven years ago. Yes, technically I still live with my father at the family estate. But that cold, formal house where I have to pretend to be who my father wants me to be hasn't been somewhere I have belonged for a while now. I belong at Watford, surrounded by all of its magic.

Thinking about Watford inevitably brings me to one topic: Simon Snow, my insufferable roommate. That I'm in love with. Wherever I go at school, there he is. Not by accident either; he's been determined since fifth year to prove that I'm a vampire. Or at least that I'm plotting to kill him. I'm pretty sure he's gotten some proof for the first one, or given up by now. As for the second, I haven't done anything that could be remotely described as "plotting" in years. Not since the tape recorder incident. I'm still guilty about that.

At first, Simon was another one of those things I wouldn't let myself think about. After all, where could that go but to a list of reasons Snow would never love me back? _For one, he hates me. And he thinks that I hate him._ The list always started off this way. _You're a vampire. He's straight and dating Wellbelove, just like everyone expects of the Chosen One._ But after about a week trapped in this bloody coffin, I gave up on that. My thoughts kept circling back around to Simon Snow, and there was no point in making myself eternally miserable. At school, I could only think " _but what if?"_ In the middle of the night, after Snow was asleep. After all, if I allowed myself to imagine what dating Snow would be like when other people were around, there was no way I would have kept my feelings secret for as long as I have. I'm starting my fourth year of being aware that I am hopelessly in love with my roommate, and not a single other person has any clue. But here, trapped in this coffin, there's no one to find me out. No one to catch me tuning out the world, thinking about Snow with a dopey smile on my face. Which is exactly what I do.

And this is how, for the last two weeks, most of my thoughts have been of Simon. Of his ridiculous curls that I'm not sure if he ever brushes. Of his obsession with sour cherry scones that I'll never understand. Of the smoke smell of his magic. Of the scattering of moles and freckles across his face, and how much I'd like to kiss them. Of how utterly idiotic and adorable he is when he just can't find the right way to say what he's thinking. Which is quite frequently; for a magician Snow does have real trouble with words. Of how I can read everything he's thinking on his face. Of how we match. I could go on about how frustrating and irritating and perfect Snow is for days, and I do. I lose track of how long I'm freezing, starving, trapped; holding onto sanity by thinking of Simon Snow.

**Author's Note:**

> I really appreciate comments :) First time writing in this fandom, hope I did an okay job.


End file.
